You Turn the Screws
by papergirl1
Summary: Clark's POV in a future fic. Who has changed, him or Lex?


Archiving: Just ask, I'll probably say yes  
  
Disclaimer: I don't own Smallville, Lex, or Clark. I don't own "You Turn the Screws," which is a song by Cake, from their album "Motorcade of Generosity." Go out and buy it (that and "Fashion Nugget"), I promise, they're awesome!  
  
Summary: A future fic where Clark analyzes his relationship with Lex, trying to figure out how Lex managed to change without him realizing it.  
  
Spoilers: Not really, unless you've never ever watched the show, and know nothing whatsoever about Superman.  
  
~~~~~~  
  
You turn the screws  
  
You tear down the bridge  
  
Flimsy as it is, it's business-like  
  
Here I am, lying in our bed, slightly disoriented, wondering where he is. Last night was amazing. I could almost forget that he had to answer his cell phone in the middle of doing that thing with his tongue. Where the hell is he?  
  
I get up and stretch, wondering what it is, this time. I can hear him yelling at someone on the phone. Funny, I never remember him using so many obscenities in one sentence before. Or maybe I just never noticed.  
  
You shake my hand  
  
You break up the band  
  
Flimsy as it is  
  
It's open-mike, punk rock  
  
Red, white and blue  
  
Glass breaks. I'm in the kitchen faster than you can blink. He's standing there, rubbing a hand over his head, as he looks out through the hole in the plate glass window of our loft. This is the third time he's broken that particular window.  
  
"Hey," I say softly, not wanting to startle him. My Lex can be pretty fragile at times.  
  
He looks at me, the wrath in his eyes fading. "Hey. Hungry?" He walks into the kitchen, deliberately avoiding my eyes.  
  
"No." I decide not to let him off easy like I usually do. "What was that about?"  
  
"Business."  
  
You twist the knife  
  
Then go home to kiss your wife  
  
A bigger, better slice  
  
Is what you like  
  
Business. That's his answer whenever it's obvious that he's stressed, angry, or morose. Business is what makes him what he is.  
  
Sometimes I feel like that's all he is. Either he's fucking me, or he's on the phone, and sometimes both (although I usually manage to get the phone away from him).  
  
"I'll make you some eggs . . ." he looks at me. "Clothes aren't required, although you might get cold," he smirks.  
  
I remember that I'm naked. "I'll be right back." I reappear wearing a pair of old jeans and a t-shirt.  
  
You kick the sand  
  
You get the upper hand  
  
You sell it to Japan  
  
It's natural, punk rock  
  
Red, white and blue  
  
"So, are you applying for that position at the Daily Planet?" He's digging in the fridge. He looks up at me, mildly surprised. "I'm still not used to the quick change, Clark."  
  
"Yeah." I sit at the table. "So what kind of business are you working on?"  
  
"Oh, right now, I'm dealing with a buyout of a couple of law firms in Gotham."  
  
"Gotham." I raise my eyebrows. "Bruce let you?"  
  
"Bruce Wayne doesn't own everything in Gotham," Lex says angrily, "although it might seem otherwise."  
  
"You two are friends," I say. "Why are you so upset?"  
  
"Bruce Wayne is not my friend," Lex looks at me. "I have no friends."  
  
Which reminds me of something he said to me years ago, back in Smallville. When my father dies, kings will attend his funeral. When yours dies, his friends will.  
  
You turn the screws  
  
It's what you choose to do  
  
You think that I must turn them, too  
  
You think that I must be so satisfied  
  
I stay inside  
  
I wonder why  
  
Oh, no  
  
Oh, no  
  
All of a sudden, I'm angry and I don't know why. I never get angry at him.  
  
"Bruce Wayne is your best friend, Lex!" I shout. "Who do you trust? Anyone?"  
  
He looks at me, surprised, and says very mildly, "No."  
  
I feel deflated. No one? Does he trust me? Somehow, I don't think I want to know. I'm afraid of the answer. I sigh, and walk over to the broken window. This is my life, and suddenly, I hate it.  
  
"You can't trust anyone, Clark." He's behind me, holding a couple of eggs in his hand. "Only yourself."  
  
"And can I trust you?" Very softly.  
  
"What?" He moves closer to me, I can feel his breath on my ear.  
  
I turn around slowly. "Can I trust you?"  
  
It's quiet. I hear the refrigerator buzz, and the sound of cars honking in the street below. He's looking into my eyes. His are so blue. So cold. I used to compare them to the summer sky in Smallville. Now they're like ice.  
  
"Of course you can," Lex laughs shortly, then returns to the kitchen.  
  
And the cement mixer gets it all ready  
  
One good turn at a time  
  
Then pouring it slowly and steady  
  
You'll show me where I can sign  
  
What I can expect  
  
To find  
  
But how can you say you'll be happy when  
  
You turn the screws  
  
The phone rings. I pick it up from the coffee table, glancing at him. "Don't answer it," he tells me, turning to chop some green onions.  
  
"Hello?" He looks at me, something like despair in his eyes, but it can't be because Lex never despairs. He always has the upper hand.  
  
"Clark?" The voice is familiar. Bruce.  
  
"Hi," I don't want to reveal his identity to Lex yet.  
  
"Listen, Clark, tell Lex to stop this foolishness. He's only going to get himself in trouble. The firms aren't worth it." Bruce sounds agitated, worried. Worried about Lex?  
  
"Why?"  
  
"They aren't, and he knows it," Bruce insists. "Clark, just tell him that. He'll listen to you." He hangs up.  
  
Lex asks, rather nonchalantly, "Who was that?"  
  
" 'Gotham Sentinel.' They want to know if we are going to renew." I hate lying to him, but I just can't deal with another broken window.  
  
"Did you say yes?"  
  
"We got cut off."  
  
You turn the screws  
  
It's what you choose to do  
  
You turn the screws  
  
It's what you choose to do  
  
You think that I must turn them, too  
  
You turn the screws  
  
It's what you choose to do  
  
It's what you choose to do  
  
We got cut off. Lex and I are cut off, disconnected from each other. He's changed, and I just never noticed, or maybe it's me who's changed. I grew up, and he stayed the same, and now the things I could ignore when I was sixteen can no longer be ignored.  
  
I can't be like him. I don't have it in me. I can't tighten my hold on him, because I never had him in my hand. I was always in his. But now, I've outgrown it.  
  
He just never noticed. 


End file.
